


apples

by dontyoudarestiles



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff and Smut, Graves Is A Lawyer Because I Work In A Law Office Let Me Live, Guinevere Graves Is Cute and POC, Kid Fic, Kindergarten Teacher Credence Barebone, M/M, We Need More Kid Fics Okay, Workaholic Original Percival Graves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 10:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontyoudarestiles/pseuds/dontyoudarestiles
Summary: Graves is a busy, if not loving father. Credence is a worried, if not well-meaning kindergarten teacher. Sparks fly.





	apples

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pineapplebreads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplebreads/gifts).



> this is a birthday/holiday/new year's gift to pineapplebreads and the reason im posting at the end of January because im trash. enjoy
> 
> (2nd chapter will come soon)

Gwennie Graves steps through Mr. Barebone’s rainbow striped door, Class 2A, with her chin up like a little trooper. She makes faces at the other little boys and girls blubbering into the knees of their parents, and Credence is charmed despite himself. A scattered-looking young woman holds onto the girl’s sleeve, tentatively guiding her into the classroom, and Credence steps forward to introduce himself, but he barely gets to open his mouth before he’s interrupted.

“Are you Mister Credence?” The girl asks, staring up at him with unreadable dark eyes.

“Yes, ma’am, that I am.” Credence smiles down at her before kneeling to be at her eye-level. He offers his hand to shake. He’s already taught this gesture to at least five little ones already this morning. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Gwennie,” she says bluntly. _Guinevere Graves_. Credence remembers seeing the heavy name on his roster this morning, wondering at the weight of it. Now that she’s in front of him, though, it seems like a fitting name. Gwennie takes two of his fingers in her small hand and shakes them three times like a mini businessperson. “I’m five years old, and three quarters. How old are you, Mister?”

Credence can’t help but laugh at her very serious little face. “I’m twenty six and a half years old. Though people tell me I look younger.”

“Oh. That’s kind of old.”

“Just a bit.” Credence blinks at her, her neat black pigtails and her soft brown skin, her nose a little button, mouth a perpetual pout. Her bubblegum unicorn backpack is over-stuffed to the point of comical effect. It makes her look like a tiny kindergarten turtle, and occasionally she tips to the right or the left in a dangerous sway before she stubbornly regains her footing and _sniffs_ like a miffed librarian.

“Daddy put too many books,” she complains to Credence, who winces with sympathy, and slight confusion, because she’s only _five,_ how many books could this man have possibly packed?

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you unpacked and ready for class in no time,” Credence says, unable to stop from giving a small huff of laughter. She’s such a cute little thing. Even her furious little scowl is adorable. “Is this your Mommy?” He smiles all friendly up at the confused, tall woman who accompanied Gwen inside.

“Oh, ah, no sir,” says the woman, flustered, her chin length bob bouncing cutely as she shakes her head. “I’m Tina Goldstein. I’m one of Mr. Graves’ employees. Er. Uh. I’ll be dropping Gwen off in the mornings…”

Credence hums lowly in his throat, eyes lowering slowly as he fixes Miss Goldstein with a look. He tries not to judge the parents of his students most times, but… an employee dropping off one of his students on the first day of class? When she’s only a kindergartener? “Ah, that’s no problem. You’ll just have to be sure you file the paperwork with the school and that’ll be fine.” He smiles more welcomingly at Gwennie. “Gwen, why don’t you go on and hang up your bag with the others? Choose out any cubby you like!”

Gwen looks slightly suspicious at the little wooden nooks set aside for the children, but she goes with no complaint, slipping among the other giggling, shrieking children wandering around on the colorful mats and play floor and sitting in their tiny chairs and desks. The other parents are still hovering and unzipping their respective offspring from their fluffy fall coats and fixing braids and such, and Credence doesn’t mind. The class won’t officially be in session for a few minutes anyway.

“Tina, was it?” Credence asks brightly. He stands and turns back to the woman, who looks very out of place among the swarm of parents. She looks to be only a few years older than him, probably early thirties, and with no ring, and by how awkwardly she’d held onto Gwennie’s hand, he guesses she doesn’t have any children at home.

“Oh, er, yes?”

“Will you be picking up Gwen during afternoons as well?” Credence asks, trying not to sound forbidding or judging, like he knows Mr. Filch in 2C would. Many single parents have taxing jobs, he’s come to learn, and not all of them can afford to pick up their own children at 3 o’clock on the dot. Perhaps Mr. Graves is in a similar situation. If anything, as long as Gwen gets home on time, he has no protests.

“I’m—not quite sure,” says Tina. She has a lovely voice, low and thick and tinged a bit from Brooklyn. “Uh. Mr. Graves is a very busy man, you see. But I don’t know…” She trails off and tugs at her collar in what looks to be a nervous habit, but Credence takes some pity on the poor woman. She obviously doesn’t know how she ended up in this situation. Being in charge of a child’s well-being is no easy task, no matter how brief the responsibility is.

“It’s quite alright,” he says softly. “I understand, of course. Though I would like to meet with Mr. Graves whenever possible. Just to let him know his daughter’s in good hands, and what he can expect over the next few months.”

“I’ll… I’ll be sure to relay the message,” says Tina. She’s still fiddling with her coat, chewing on the skin of her bottom lip. “Well. I ought to… you know, head out—”

“Oh, um.” Credence manages to get a pen out from his shirt pocket and finds a small pad of paper to scribble on. “I would really appreciate it if you’d be able to give me Mr. Graves’ contact information. You know… So I can pass on some general information to him. About the class and what to expect and that sort of thing. If… if that wouldn’t be too much to ask?”

Tina’s hands flutter, watch flashing silver, and she laughs at herself, self-deprecating. “Gosh, I’m sorry about that, I guess I’m a bit fuzzy-headed today. Yeah, yeah, of course, Mr. Barebone. That’d be fine.” She takes the pen and paper and hunches over to write. “Mr. Graves only ever checks his work phone, though. Guess you’d have the most luck emailing him.”

“A little old fashioned, is he?”

“God,” Tina says huffily, remnants of an old argument in the frustrated lines on her face. “If that man could communicate efficiently through pigeon carriers, he would.”

It takes about ten minutes to finish chatting with Tina and convince the rest of the parents that their children will be absolutely fine out from under their hawkish eyes. Once he finally manages to herd the last of the adults out of the door after kisses and goodbyes and only a few tears—mostly from the fathers, poor things—Credence turns back to Tina, trailing behind the rest of the crowd like an estranged cousin. “Well, I’ll see you later today. 3 o’clock?”

“Yessir.” It’s very strange, being addressed as ‘sir’ by a woman who is obviously a good five years older than him. Tina waves goodbye at Gwennie, who barely notices, too interested in her coloring book. “Promise to be here right on time. I’m always very punctual… Though I am a bit late for work today.” She rubs at her neck sheepishly. “So… I really should get going.”

“I completely understand. It was lovely meeting you.” He reaches out to shake her hand like he did with Gwen. “Have a nice day, Miss Tina. And tell Mr. Graves hello for me.” Her hand shakes with his once, and then she flees, the door slamming shut behind her. Poor Miss Goldstein. She’ll get used to it as she goes, he reasons and fixes a smiling construction paper sun from slanting at an angle.

He takes a final breath and turns to the kids and opens his arms and smiles brightly. “Hello, all! Welcome to Ilvermorny Elementary!”

…

_PercivalGraves@GravesPicqueryWickLaw.com_

The blue ink is smudged slightly from a swipe of Credence’s thumb over the scrawled address, but still legible. Usable. Credence pours himself a healthy glass of red wine as an excuse not to turn on his computer. He sips his drink, cheap grocery store stuff even Jacob would wrinkle his nose at and finds an old box of sugar cookies in the cupboard of his apartment to nibble on. He sits on his sinky La-Z-Boy couch and stares at the black monitor of his desktop in stubborn silence, the tick of a clock.

“Hey, kitty, kitty,” he murmurs as Bear, his fat white fluffy cat, leaps up beside him on the second cushion of the couch. He sits primly as could be, little paws kneading at his pillow with pleasure. “What do you think, Bear? Hmm? Should Cree stop being an idiot and just message the man?”

Bear’s big green eyes blink and then close, a low rusty purr ruffling his pelt.

“You’re useless, Bear,” Credence says fondly, scritching behind Bear's ears as he glances back at the computer. The screen is so black he can see himself reflected in it, a pale child in an oversized sweater and old boxers fussing over a lazy cat, scared to death of a goddamn email address. Pathetic.

He takes another sip.

Children, for Credence, have always been easier than adults.

As a child himself, still in the care of St. Augusta’s Orphanage for the Unfortunate, he’d learned to be tight lipped and tiny around the nuns. It was especially important to be silent around Sister Mary Lou, a vicious woman with a perverse fondness for the birch who’d use any excuse to dole out a good whipping. Lessons had been learned with trial and error. Speak only when spoken to. Children should be seen and not heard. The typical bullshit. Perhaps Credence had learned his lessons a little too well. His orphan sister Chastity had nicknamed him Mouse, a moniker that trailed after him through every school and grade and classroom. It thankfully died once he entered college and managed to open up more. Not painlessly and with effort, but he’d opened up. Talked more. Made friends, even.

But still, even now, kids are easier. They cry only when something they don’t like happens. They trip over their own feet, a toy breaks, they can’t figure out how to tie their shoelaces, skinned knees and Hello Kitty bandages. Easily fixed problems that even Credence can solve. And they’re so curious, asking questions. Why is the sky blue, Mister Barebone? Why do birds fly? How come the ocean is so big? Why can’t people fly? Big brains like sponges soaking up facts, spilling out questions with every breath, as though being quiet for too long meant they’d be quiet forever. So different from adults in every way. There are no strange, invisible social rules that Credence is afraid to stumble over, or awkward pauses or uncomfortable eye contact and shuffling feet.

But even though he knows there will be none of that behind the safety of a computer screen, he tastes sour nerves in the back of his throat, ice water spilling into his stomach. More so than ever, he feels as those he’s slipping back into the ratty, holey shoes of that silent, big eyed boy with the hand me down sweaters and the beaten up binders.

“Fuck this,” he whispers, and Bear mrows in grumbling protest as Credence gets up from the couch. “Shush, baby, I’ll be done in a minute.” The computer screen flickers on, and Credence takes a fortifying gulp of wine, the cat twining between his ankles demandingly as his fingers clatter on the keyboard.

To: Percival Graves  
From: Credence Barebone  
Subject: Guinevere

_Hello Mr. Graves,_

_My name is Credence. I was very disappointed that_

“Let’s not scold the man, Credence, I’m his daughter’s teacher, what am I saying?” Credence huffs. He deletes the entire draft and opens a new one, staring at the blinking cursor for what feels like an eternity before he puts his fingers lightly to the keys.

_Dear Mr. Graves,_

_As your daughter’s first year at Ilvermorny elementary begins, I thought you’d be interested in learning more about her educational experience happening in the classroom!_

“It’s not an advertisement, Credence,” he whispers under his breath, fingers reaching up to massage at his forehead, a stress headache building. “And what is this ‘dear’ stuff, I’m not his one hundred year old grandmother.”

_To Mr. Graves,_

_Hello, sir, my name is Credence Barebone. You may not know who I am but as of this morning, I am your daughter’s kindergarten teacher. I was a little disappointed when I realized that you weren’t available to drop off Gwennie but Miss Tina Goldstein was good enough to tell me how busy you are with work. If you’d like, I could update you on Gwennie’s progress in class via emails like this one. Thank you so much for your time._

_Credence Barebone_

He clicks send before he can overthink it. Bear’s eyes gleam at him judgingly.

“What would you know about it?” Credence mutters before picking him up in his arms despite his halfhearted meows of complaint, and they shuffle into the bedroom together, the wine gone and the computer shut off. He crawls into bed, underneath the soft covers, and he only just remembers to put his phone to charge before he’s sinking into a dark sleep, no dreams or light.

He wakes up heart pounding, only a few minutes before his alarm is set to off, and he rubs at his eyes, snuffling and too-warm. Bear is on the opposite pillow, eyes glowing gold in the dark as he watches him intently.

“Creep,” he mutters affectionately, groping mindlessly for his phone. The cat startles when the charger slips out of the outlet and bangs loudly against the wall. He hisses lowly and leaps away and Credence rolls his eyes. “Drama queen.”

As Bear’s claws clack against the floor and into the kitchen, Credence opens his phone and blinks in surprise. He’d sent the email quite late, hadn’t expected a reply at all, but the unopened email sitting in his mailbox is time-stamped only a few minutes after he’d sent the message and rolled into bed himself.

To: Credence Barebone  
From: Percival Graves  
Re: Guinevere

_Thank you Mr. Barebone for your concern and your diligence in taking care of your students. However I assure you that Miss Goldstein is perfectly able to take care of any needs Gwennie may have. I trust her implicitly. Any concerns you have should go to her first before you make any attempts to contact me._

_With all due respect,_

_Percival Graves_

Credence has perfected the art of dealing with overprotective, hovering parents. Parents so worried about their child’s safety that they verge on the edge of hysterical. Parents who have done background checks on him. Parents who have attempted to pull their children out of his classes because he is a young man instead of a middle aged frumpy woman. But never in his life has he had to deal with a parent who doesn’t at least try to be involved in their child’s education.

He types out his response on the way to the school, trying to get rid of the prickling sensation of confusion and concern.

_Mr. Graves,_

_Thank you very much for taking the time out of your hectic schedule to respond, Mr. Graves. I dearly admire the faith you show in the abilities of Miss Goldstein to handle any and all concerns regarding your daughter. However, as Miss Goldstein is neither a close relative or a legal guardian of Gwennie’s, I feel as though it is in fact my responsibility as her educator to speak to you face to face. Or at least email to email. Direct contact is best to make sure we don’t have any miscommunications after all :)_

_Credence_

The smiley face is texted out with pure passive aggression, and while kind of juvenile, Credence finds he has no regret pressing the send button as he steps off the subway and heads into his building with a huff. He only gets a chance to look down at his phone during Coloring Time, the kids attacking blank white printer paper and wielding their various Crayola weapons like little warriors.

_Mr. Barebone,_

_I suppose you are right._

Credence, despite the fact he’s never met the man in his life, can feel the pure smugness that line was written with.

_Don’t misunderstand me, I do appreciate your effort. It’s just that I am very busy during this time of the year. But that is no excuse. I should be paying more attention to Guinevere and her academics. Her first year at school, after all, is the most crucial one. I look forward to seeing Guinevere’s progress under your careful guidance. After all, knowing red from purple and how to make macaroni-glue portraits are useful skills that will benefit her far in her adulthood._

_Have a good day,_ _  
_

_Percival Graves_

Credence steams to himself for a good fifteen minutes before he stands and smiles slyly at his class, smudged with washable markers and all. “These are all so good! How about we make something even more fun? Something that your parents can hang on the fridge!”

...

To: Percival Graves  
From: Credence Barebone  
Subject: MOMA Worthy

FileAttached: 5 MGs

 

_Mr. Graves_

_The attached picture is the result of Guinevere’s efforts of today. Gwennie says she thinks it looks a lot like you. The best part is that it doubles as a Christmas ornament. Or doorknob decoration. So you can see it all year round._

_Have a good day Mr. Graves :)_

...

Credence would never admit it, not even under pain of death because all his students are wonderful, curious creatures (if a bit bratty at times, but that’s besides the point), but Gwennie Graves is quickly becoming his favorite out of all his kids.

It’s only the second week of class and she’s already writing out beautiful, crisp print with ease. She refuses to reference her writing books or erase away shameful mistakes or ask for help when she skips up to him during naptime to show him. She scratches out her name on paper, little tongue held in between her sharp white teeth in fierce concentration, brow furrowed intensely as she etches out each individual letter. Her capital “G” loops as neatly as any well-taught adult’s.

“Very good, Gwennie,” Credence whispers, because he doesn’t want to wake any of the other little ones, dozing on their soft pillows and arms quietly. “Who taught you that?”

“Daddy did!” Gwennie beams with pride, little heels clicking together with pleasure. “His writing is prettier than mine.”

Credence tries not to blink at the new mention of the conspicuously absent Mr. Graves and tries to corral his curiosity back into place. “Well, he’s a grown up. He’s had more practice.” And then he winks and whispers, as if telling a secret, “Don’t tell the others, Gwennie, but I think yours is neater than mine.”

“Yes it is,” Gwennie says bluntly and Credence has to smother his laugh in his armpit to keep from waking the kids. But it turns out to be a hopeless objective because just as he gets Gwennie back into her seat with her fluffy pillow, there’s a loud knocking at his classroom door that makes the children whine and groan with complaints.

A tall, strangely gorgeous woman is in the hallway, dyed white curls striking against her dark skin and feminine jaw. “Seraphina Picquery,” she says with a sharp little smile, offering her a business card that Credence blinks down at in confusion. _Esquire_ is printed in a gilded, swirling font after her name printed on thick paper. “A pleasure.”

“Oh. Credence Barebone. It’s nice to meet you,” he says stupidly. “How can I help—”

“I’m here to pick up my niece for the day.” Butter wouldn’t melt in her darkly lipsticked mouth. “Little Gwennie.”

“It’s—not—”

“I’ll be signing her out early for today.” Her eyes flicker over Credence lightly and he has the distinct impression that he’s being measured and weighed like a quality slab of meat in a slaughterhouse. He gulps as her smile widens. “It’s her birthday tomorrow. I’m sure you understand.”

“I’m very sorry, but I do have to check that your name is on the preapproved list,” Credence says, awkward in the ways he wished he’d grown out of as a too-quiet teenager. “Can’t let Gwennie go home with just anyone, you know?”      

Her eyes gleam with something that makes shivers go up his spine. “Yes. I can see why he likes you,” she muses, leaving Credence stunned and blushing beet red for reasons he doesn’t want to think about. “Go on, sweetheart. Check your list. I’ll wait.”

Stammering, Credence stumbles back into the class, waving off curious questions from Benny Gorschman as he reaches for his clipboard and thumbs through the pages. But before he can even find her name on the paper, Gwennie spots the woman at the door, squeals and races up to Ms. Picquery. Credence can’t help but be a little amused as she throws her stubby arms around Picquery’s pantsuited waist dramatically. “Auntie!”

“Munchkin!” The woman squeezes Gwennie’s plump, darling cheek with a glittering manicure that probably costs more than Credence’s weekly food expense. “How’s my favorite niece doing, huh?”

“‘M good,” Gwennie says cheerfully. “Mr. Barebone let me skip naptime!”

As twenty other accusing sets of six year old eyes glare at Credence, he smiles sheepishly. “I’ve found your name, Miss Picquery,” he says, laughing a little under his breath in spite of himself. “You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barebone.” Picquery swirls her signature on the dotted line of Gwennie’s name, and just as Gwennie begins to skip into the hallway, her bag packed and her jacket zippered, Picquery turns and smiles wickedly.

“I’ll let Mr. Graves know you said hello,” she purrs.

Credence’s face burns with a dark blush and he says weakly, “Oh.”

He shoots off a text as soon as the last child is picked up and ferried from the classroom, tutting idly to himself as he tidies up and locks the door shut behind him.

_Your sister-in-law is terrifying._

They’d graduated from email to text around the same time that Credence had sent Graves that godawful macaroni portrait of his face, or what Guinevere claims _looks_ like his face. Credence would feel guiltier about chatting so much with the parent of a student if Graves had done anything to discourage it. Or sound anything but amused when Credence texts him. And besides, it’s not as though they’re doing anything very inappropriate. It’s just… friendly chatting. Two adults bonding distantly over the ordeals of one kindergartener. Yes. That’s all. Telling himself that doesn’t quell the excitement bursting in his chest at the ding of his cellphone, and he has to stop himself from getting out his phone as he crosses the street to head down into his subway station.

 _She is._ The message oozes pride once he finally flicks it open, safe and clinging to a safety railing. _Excellent quality to have in court._

Credence snorts to himself. _Of course it is. Probably not the best characteristic to have around kindergarteners tho_

_Are you kidding? She fits right in. Gwennie is scarier than Seraphina at this point._

_… you’re not wrong,_ Credence admits.

_You just wait. She’ll be busting balls in court before you know it._

_She’s only 5 Percy maybe wait a couple years before you send in applications to Yale_

_Too late._

Credence can’t help himself as he smiles stupidly down at the screen of his phone even as he’s bumped into and rocked against as others get on his train.

_You’re coming to Parent-Teacher conference next week, right???_

His phone dings only a moment after the screen goes black, and Credence heart is in his throat as he opens the messaging app.

_Wouldn’t miss it for the world_

Credence bites his lip and laughs.

_Not going to send Tina in your place? Hmm. Who are you and what have you done with Mr. Graves?_

_ha ha ha. Very funny. I thought you wanted me to come_

_I do!_

_Then stop teasing_

And then another text from Graves, right after the last:

_Besides. That was only for the first few weeks. Once this case is done, I’ll have time to drop Gwennie off before and after school_

_YAY!_ Credence flushes a little after the text sends, feeling like a child as he stares at the all-caps and the exclamation mark, but before he can second guess himself, of all things, a smiley face emoji pops up in the chat.

_… no really, who are you?_

_What? What did I do?_

_A smiley face?_

_please shut up, Credence_

**Author's Note:**

> I love you pineapplebreads so much! thanks for being sassy and a tumblr mom and a fellow Sagittarius. I promise the next chapter has a physical meeting between the boys. And also porn. Love youuuu dont kill me :) 
> 
> Follow pineapplebread on tumblr guys she's great and her fanart is to die for:  
> pineapplebread.tumblr.com  
> *finger guns*


End file.
